


Zero Dawn

by the_authors_exploits



Series: AJ's AUs [6]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse, M/M, road trip au kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 10:59:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12011307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_authors_exploits/pseuds/the_authors_exploits
Summary: He dies on the beach because that's his favorite place; you die in his arms because that's yours.





	Zero Dawn

The night before, Jason can’t sleep and neither can Tim; that’s not abnormal, for either one. Jason has nightmares and his anxiety keeps him awake, and Tim suffers insomnia and an obsession with whatever project he’s working on. But this night is different; they sit in darkness, as if they can hide from the future, the only light coming from the television. A news caster sits and talks with a solemn face, but Tim has turned the volume down low to give them some relief.

“What do you want for breakfast?” Jason asks; it’s hoarse. His eyes are red he knows, just like Tim’s, and Tim doesn’t look over; give him a sense of privacy in his grief.

“Why don’t I make us waffles? You like my waffles.”

“I like your waffles.”

They have waffles; Tim starts cooking before the sun begins coming up. Mixing the batter, he works in his secret ingredient—coffee creamer, though Jason doesn’t drink coffee and Tim takes his black so the point of having it in the house is purely for additive flavor—and mixes the eggs and the milk and a sprinkle of sugar. Jason reaches for the plates in the cupboard and his shirt raises enough to show a strip of scarred skin; Tim focuses on the waffles.

Jason sets the table, fills glasses halfway with orange juice, and places jam jars and syrup bottles on the table as well; Tim piles the golden waffles on a plate and turns off the stove, walking the food to the table just as the sun is rising. The sky turns pink outside their apartment window, sharp rays of orange reaching out; somewhere, on the other side of the world, it’s dark.

Or bright and burning, considering the explosions. An imploding world, burning and blowing up, curdling on itself.

Tim cuts his waffles into a cross work of large pieces, pours a sizeable amount of syrup, and adds a dash of cinnamon; Jason slathers orange marmalade across his waffles, adds a dash of syrup, and eats mechanically. Tim watches him, and Jason watches him back; they hear cars in the street, yells echoing, but the only sound that passes between them is the scraping of utensils.

They finish eating, and Tim crosses his knife and fork; they sit for a moment. Enjoying each other’s presence, in the quiet of this lovely morning; Jason reaches across the table and Tim puts his hand in his.

They leave the dishes on the table with the syrup and jam; Tim showers, Jason packs. He stops halfway through, taking a seat on the edge of the bed with a sweater in hand; it’s from Tim’s college, one size too big just so Jason can wear it; Tim comes into the room and lays a hand on Jason’s shoulder.

“You want to go now?”

Jason raises a smile, and Tim slots between his knees to wraps his arms about Jason’s neck; his fingers thread through his hair ever gently and Jason stretches for a kiss. Tim meets him halfway; a tender moment, and Tim pulls away to touch brow to brow.

They breathe in tandem.

“We should go.” Jason doesn’t move, a finger hooking in Tim’s belt loop, and Tim responds by pushing Jason’s bangs from his face.

“We will; when we feel like it.”

They eventually move; Jason tosses a few towels in the backseat, Tim adds some pillows and a cooler of beer and snacks. Jason settles in the driver’s seat, and Tim hops in the passenger; sunglasses on, Jason puts the windows down and they roll out of the parking lot. Down familiar streets, to backroads and highways, the radio crackling with talk and music.

 _“If you’re on the west coast, you have approximately an extra hour or two before the shockwave hits; if you’re up south, you’ve got only a half hour extra.”_ The radio crackles with static, the speakers popping; Tim glances to Jason. His jaw is tense and his teeth are grinding. _“I’d suggest finding a nice place to watch the fireworks from; don’t even hope to survive this. It’s the end of the world, fol—”_

Tim deftly shuts it off, and scrolls through his phone to find a song for them to listen to; Fall Out Boy starts playing through the speakers, better quality than the radio, and Tim keeps his gaze on Jason’s face, watches wisps of hair fly in the wind as they go racing down the desolate street.

Past bodies on the side of the road, houses on fire, past all the signs of their impending doom; they drive and drive without a care in the world. And, quite frankly, they have nothing to worry about; life is suddenly short, and all duties are nonexistent. All that’s left is a few hours.

They stop at a diner for lunch; and the waitress laughs with tears in her eyes when they ask her if her family is coming to spend time with her; she has no family, no obligations but this job, and Tim squeezes Jason’s hand under the table.

They nibble at their food; a sandwich for Tim and strips of chicken for Jason. Fries as a side, with soda and coleslaw… Jason retrieves his wallet, but the waitress waves him off; she offers them a smile.

“It’s on the house; don’t worry about it.”

They drive more; the coastline is in view as the sun burns high overhead. Tim coaxes Jason into singing to Alone Together, and even a few Breaking Benjamin songs; the air is growing thick and heavy, and Tim turns away from the firewall approaching.

They’ve still got some time; parking in a carpool lot, Jason carries the towels out to the beach. Soft sand with little pebbles, roiling white waves, and enchanting blue water; Tim takes a moment to breathe in the air. Opening his eyes, he meets Jason’s gaze.

Stepping forward, Tim pulls Jason into a kiss; one hand wrapped around Jason’s neck to tug him close, and the other one balances the cooler on his hip. They pull away and Tim sets the cooler down while Jason spreads the towels out and settles the pillows into a comfortable pile.

Tim hands him a beer, nods at the murmured thank you, and cracks open his own drink; they sit, and watch the horizon. The beer is lukewarm, the ice having melted quickly in this stifling heat, but they deal with it; it’s what they have, and Jason’s never been one to pass on a beer.

“Tim?”

He hums, and Jason puts an arm around his shoulders; Tim moves closer, lets Jason direct him where he wants. One leg stretched out and the other tucked in, Jason settles Tim against his chest; Tim presses a kiss to his skin and brushes his fingertips against Jason’s skin.

They look out to the horizon; there is no horizon. It’s a wall of fire boiling closer, and they squint.

Tim tips his head against Jason’s arm, feels him shake with repressed sobs, and Tim sucks a breath in; the air is heavy and hot in his lungs, the hair on his arm singes away, and the water bubbles into steam.

“Jason,” Tim chokes out, and the arms around him tighten.

The fire draws closer, the earth rumbling, but neither one looks away; until the light and heat and pain gets too much to bare, and Tim turns his face against Jason’s body at the same moment Jason buries his in Tim’s hair.

The world burns away, and they are no more.


End file.
